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Walking through the crowded streets, Benches taken, no free seats. Sun beats down on all our heads, Rising from our unmade beds. Cramped yet dainty, life here seems, Architecture rises from my dreams.
"Aren't you cold?" an abuelita asks me, huddling in her shawl. I tell her that I'm English, that to me it's not cold at all. She tuts and shakes her head with a smile, we bid each other adios.
There's a little thatched cottage, In the southern part of Spain, Where the skies are always brighter, And there's never any rain.
Sorry it is not that great and it ends weirdly. I am really tired and I wanted to get it out tonight. Hopefully I will do some more soon. :) enjoy.
First chapter. :) I stepped out of the plane and onto the stairs. I looked around at the scenery, wanting to take in everything I could. I did not want to miss anything on my first holiday to Spain.